Take This For Rehab
by Skewbald
Summary: "Indeed, wretched the man whose fame makes his misfortunes famous." - Lucius Accius Telephus. The reality of fame hits an older Trina, and Beck can rival in the pain. T, maybe M. Was a one-shot, but had to continue. This is the result of a writing block, so it may not be the greatest!


So. I was working on my other story when my virus riddled computer wigged out and deleted like HALF THE STORY! But that's ok, it needed work anyways. So this is the result of my short writer's block/frustration at technology. Yes, it is Brina. But yes, it is AU. Sorry it's not the best, I basically typed what was on my mind and it is...12:01am, and I've been up since 5am. Tiredness has set in, but I really put some feeling into this, thanks to this jumbled up mess I call my mind. Thus, enjoy! And remember to review, I can also use feedback.(:

P.S. - my other story, Insanely Super, will be updated soon. Just be patient. ;D

Thanks!

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It's a drug, this thing called fame.

Trina Vega sat at her vanity. The music outside of the room pounded, making her head spin. It was a drowning sickness, as it started as an energizer but later turned to poison. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and felt a wave of nausea rush over her. Whore. Slut. Desperate. Those were the words that instantly came to mind. She was a toy to the wealthy, a piece of meat for the media to feast on.

Yet she couldn't give it up. This fame, this stardom. She'd always wanted it. So she let them use her to their needs. At first she was loved by many, but then the publicity stunts turned her into a much hated monster. Multiple boy toys and a number of drunk mishaps later, she found herself only famous by means of the crazy stories the media came up with for her weekend outings.

Yes, she put aside her cockiness somewhere down the road and really put into learning to dance. Her singing wasn't the best, but auto tune was forced onto her. Acting was her passion, but that too had been altered so that she always played the bitch that everyone hated. She'd lost touch with her own sister a number of years ago, for the fame had gotten to her brain.

The fame was like venom, slowly taking over and forcing you into a state of life that no one should have to endure. It took away all of your freedom. No amount of wealth could ever buy her the happiness she so desired. No famous boyfriend could ever give her the love she wanted. Her planned life was now out of reach, torn from her once young fingers and replaced with the life of someone who is completely controlled and altered, someone who has no say in what happens, or just gets too drunk to even give a fuck.

She learned a long time ago that alcohol is the only way out of it. There was no way to kick the addiction, so why not work with it? Alcohol was a depressant, but it sure seemed to make things bearable. At least when she was drunk she didn't have to think about how she fucked up. She didn't have to waste her time feeling sorry for herself. The media fed off of her drunk outings, but she really didn't give a fuck anymore. Why bother? She was already on the last straw. No one cared about her anymore. Her parents stopped calling to see how she was doing two years ago. She never really had any friends to begin with. It was just her, alone.

Alone with nothing but the feeling of fame. It all came back to the fame; her need for it, its need for her. She had never really gotten into the rush of drugs, but from what she had done, she knew fame had the worst effect of them all. Pain, both mentally and physically, were its side effects. The money was great at first, but it soon became just another part of the pain. As did all the cars, clothes, and several different houses.

For a short while she though she could turn it all around. She had tried, she had really tried. Donating to animal rescues and homeless shelters, as well as attend fundraisers across the globe. But after a while, not even that was appreciated. So she gave up, because that was the easiest thing to do. She always resorted to the easy way out, that's what fame did to you. When she was younger and still in high school, people would tell her how horrid she was, but she wouldn't care. She'd push their thoughts aside and continue to try and impress. But now, that wasn't possible. She couldn't go on without taking into account what people said about her. She'd read about it, hear about it, and just want to cry. But she wouldn't. She'd pick up another bottle of vodka, or tequila, or expensive red wine and drown out her worries with the toxic beverage.

Now, sitting here in front of her vanity, she regarded her current life. She had been invited to go out clubbing with people who claimed to be friends, but she'd come back to the hotel drunk out of her mind and they would just leave her stumbling to the front door. No staying to make sure she was ok, no staying to just hang out and talk. No invites to any other places, such as shopping or the movies.

She picked up her new PearPhone and was about to call, but the sound of an engine caused her to look out the large front window. It was too late, they were already here. She took a deep breath, not daring to look back into the mirror. Instead, she stood and grabbed her purse, making sure she had a scarf that she could cover her face with if need be.

A knock pulled her from her current task, and she moved to the door. She opened it and gave a small, surprised yelp. Standing before her was none other than the one and only Beckett Oliver.

Beck. That's how she knew him. He'd left after high school, becoming an instant star in the movie world. He and Jade had never gotten back together. She had moved away to London to pursue singing, and he went to New York to pursue acting. Trina hadn't seen him in person since high school, but had seen plenty of him in movies and commercials. They'd even attended some of the same events in the past, but she was always stuck in the back of the room or the end of the line, whereas he was always in the front, ahead of everyone else.

His looks hadn't changed much over the years. He still looked young, and exceedingly handsome. His hair was as gorgeous as ever, and he still wore that signature smirk. Right now he had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his expensive trousers, the sleeves of his red dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. His face was soft and knowing, but she could see the same hurt and pain in his eyes. Did he understand?

"Trina."

"Beck. What are you doing here?" Tears stung her eyes, and she didn't even know why. She didn't want Beck to see her cry though. She didn't want 'weak' to be added to her list of traits.

"Tori. I talked to Tori."

"Well…come in I guess." She stepped aside, letting him in. He strode a few feet past her and turned, his brown eyes bearing down on her own. She wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Maybe he was drunk, or jacked up on something. She wasn't about to say anything though.

"Tori pointed some things out last I talked to her. How you've…changed."

"Easy for her to say. She's little miss perfect, as always." Trina hadn't meant to say that, but it escaped her lips before she could stop it. She loved her sister dearly, but was sick of how everything came easy for Tori, who was now a very successful singer and had just started acting. Everything was always Tori, Tori, Tori.

"Yeah…"

"Come on Beck, why are you here? Being seen with a fuck-up like me would really bring down your status." Trina lowered her head, not allowing herself to look at him. She felt too ashamed. She didn't have the same confidence she used to, even if that confidence came from her once being cocky and self-centered.

"I understand it." He didn't take his eyes off of her. "The pain that comes from the fame…"

"Do you, Beck? Cause last time I saw, you were lounging by a massive pool at your very expensive mansion on the cover of _USA Today_."

"Well Trina, not all is what it seems. It's amazing how much a smile can hide; we appear to have pride while we're really dying inside." Trina flinched, and for the first time, looked straight into his eyes. Pain, hurt, fear. That's all she saw. There was no sign of that once mellow, laid-back Beck. No sign of that handsome boy that she spent forever chasing. All that showed was what he had been made into, a product of the business called fame.

"Beck…" She wasn't sure what to say, but she needn't say anything as he swiftly moved forward and pulled her into a tight embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. It had been so long since someone had showed her any form of love or friendship. Too many times did she find herself needing to be held by someone she knew and trusted. But no one had ever been there for her. Never. Until now. Beck was the last person she expected to be held by though, as he never really had any interest or liking to her. Sure, they'd kissed twice, but those were both forced and fake. Yeah, she'd chased after him, but he never returned any of the flirtatious actions. Yet here they were, standing in her dark hotel room.

"I needed someone that would understand. Someone that I knew. I know I never really talked with you Trina, but I've always considered us friends. And I'm pretty sure you're the only one that understands it all," he whispered into her left ear.

"I understand," she whispered back.

"I just don't know what to do anymore. I know no other way but to accept it all."

"That's the only way left for us now, to accept it." The last three words were so faint, Beck could barely hear them as her breath tickled his ear. He pulled her closer, so that they were pressed against one another. She buried her head in his shoulder, and he could just make out her muffled sobs.

"Do you have any alcohol?" he asked.

"Plenty," she replied, lifting her head. Her makeup had run a bit, and her eyes were burning red. "Come on, it's in the kitchen."

She turned and started to slowly walk to the kitchen. He grabbed her hand and followed. She flipped on the light switch and moved to the fridge, opening it briefly to remove two bottles of beer. She set those on the island in the center of the kitchen, and moved to the cabinet above the sink. She pulled out two shot glasses and a large bottle of vodka.

"Here," she said, handing him the glasses. She moved back to the island, Beck still holding her hand. Setting down the vodka, she released Beck's hand and jumped onto the granite counter, patting the spot beside her. He jumped up next to her.

"Well Mr. Oliver, you've caught me at my finest, my time with my only friend, alcohol."

Beck smirked and picked up a shot glass. "Shots first?"


End file.
